


A quarter after five (right this way)

by gabrielgoodman



Series: coda: you've arrived at last, my friend. [1]
Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/pseuds/gabrielgoodman
Summary: Donny's and Michael's first kiss somewhere on Solomon Islands.





	A quarter after five (right this way)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ftwnhgn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftwnhgn/gifts).



> @ftwnhgn requested: "write Michael and Donny's first kiss and Donny being a scared kid and having nothing else to hold on to than him."
> 
> And if someone asks so nicely, I deliver (she also proclaimed me captain of this ship and I take what I can get). Written in the middle of the night because just like Donny Novitski, I'm a (recovering) insomniac with no concept of time and space. Born out of my on-going battle with writer's block. I've never seen the show and have only obsessively listened to the cast recording so I apologize if anything feels a little off (Also have you seen the playbill video of their open rehearsal performance of Right This Way because it is my everything and I need to talk about Wayne Wright for 500 hours minimum).
> 
> Canon Divergence because I don't think that Michael would cheat on Julia but then again I can also see him falling head over heels for Donny anyway. You pick.
> 
> Donny Novitski is bisexual and no one can tell me otherwise. 
> 
> Donny is 19/20 and Michael is 23.

It is raining outside. Donny's hands are shaking even inside the tent, the rain sounding more like a cacophony of gun shots than anything else and he's too young for this, the thinks,  _he's too goddamn young for this. _

"Nova, hey," Michael says and sits down next to him; Donny hasn't noticed him coming in but then again he's not sure when was the last time he really  _noticed _ anything. He's scared. Jesus Christ, he's so scared and this is the first time he's brave enough to admit it. 

He wanted only the glory and none of the guts and what does he have now?  _Nothing_ , a voice in his head whispers,  _nothing_.

"You okay?" Michael asks, soft and sweet and considerate and caring. Donny is so in love with him, he's sure it's the only thing keeping him alive, rooted to the spot. If he makes a move he's going to blow his cover, friendly fire a million miles away from enemy lines and he doesn't need that, doesn't want that, doesn't have to see Michael going up in smoke, all dust and ashes.

It's raining and Donny shrugs because he's not sure what to say, because he's not okay, hasn't been for a while. He wants to  get lost in Michael's endless eyes and keep falling asleep ( _no one ever talksaboutit_ ) in his arms, wants to hold his hand in the trenches, his lonely anchor, wants to tell him that if he could, he would like to crawl inside him, make a home right where Michael's laugh sits because that's where he has to be to finally  _feel _ again. Donny's always had his head in the clouds. Maybe he's really losing it now and the bottom line is this tent, the rain, this war and Michael. 

"Hey, Don, look at me – you're shaking like a leaf," Michael says and he's. Worried, Donny thinks, so worried. Michael, the poster boy of their battalion, all blond hair, rosy cheeks and broad shoulders, now hollowed out like someone's been carving his heart out of his rib cage and Donny needs to hear it, the beat of it, so he raises his (shaking) hand and touches the left side of Michael's chest, closes his eyes, waits for the beat to kick in like a base drum and soon enough there it is – _thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump_ –   "Oh, baby," Michael says and his hand finds Donny's cheek and Donny leans into the touch, makes a noise in the back of his throat (definitely needy but if someone asks he'll swear on his life that it's not), and Michael's other hand finds Donny's and intertwines their fingers before raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to Donny's bruised knuckles.

( _ Donny Novitski shatters. Crescendo. _ )

They haven't talked about this – no one does – they're all just lonely and trying to survive and holding on to whatever's closest to them. Michael's always been close to Donny, ever since he claimed the bus seat next to him on their bus ride down from Cleveland to Texas, and Donny, who was,  _ is, _  so young didn't know that kind of proximity, he didn't have a high school sweetheart – only the music, the piano, stolen hours, a marching band and sheet music, gigs in bars in Cleveland. News of a war going on overseas, pushed to the back of his head. How could he not fall in love? (He's really just trying to survive)

"Michael," he breathes out and looks at the man in front of him, this man who touches him so tenderly, so unlike everything else around them, and maybe he's still in shock. Maybe he's been ever since he saw someone losing his leg and another one bleeding out next to him. 

Maybe he really needs this. Donny Novitski has always been craving –  _ something. _More.

"It's okay," Michael says and Donny nods as he leans in and crosses the distance between them, kissing Donny carefully but surely, like a river to the sea, like the endless stretch of horizon above the pacific, and his lips are chapped and soft at the same time and it confuses Donny who can't help but gasp, desperate, so desperately, drawingMichael in so he practically sits on his lap, and now he can change the angle –  _much better _ – and Michael finally kisses him like he means it.

A perfect symphony.

Michael licks into Donny's mouth, tasting beer and dirt and rain and it's so familiar that Donny can't help but let out a sob that's swallowed by their tongues, still Michael loses his grip and wraps his arm around the dip of Donny's back, holding him close and tight and secure, not letting go. It's good, intoxicating; Donny has dreamed of this in the rare moments he gets to sleep. It's better. It's  _real_.

Only after they slow down, after the heat and steam is washed away by the downpour, only then Donny realizes he's crying. He can't remember the last time he cried. But Michael wraps his other arm around him too and gently rocks them, murmuring sweet nothings into Donny's dark hair, and they fit together like two pages of the same tragic story of a novel already finished; their end is so predictable. This is all so predictable. 

"There is a train," Michael says quietly, "It leaves the station at a quarter after five and it's direct from Union Terminal right there at Public Square and do you know where it does arrive, Nova?"

It's a no-brainier, even in his state so Donny answers, "At Grand Central Station." A hoarse whisper muffled by the fabric of Michael's shirt but still audible in the quiet and the rain and maybe this is a lifeline. Something else to hold onto, just like Cleveland or Michael's voice or Jimmy's letters.  

"Right, Donny, at Grand Central Station, direct from Cleveland and you know what? We will take this train and we will go to New York and we will see the lights of Times Square and Broadway," Michael kisses his forehead and smiles that crooked smile, "Wouldn't you like that?"

Donny chuckles, "Yeah, I would like that."

"A quarter after five," Michael repeats and kisses him again, "Don't you forget that."

Donny's hands are still shaking but no one notices, drowned out by the never ending storm outside, and he's still too young and too scared but he's not alone. At least he's not alone. 

_ (Donny Novitski will be. Not tomorrow, not soon, but three years from now. He doesn't know but he has a hunch. He shouldn't.) _

A quarter after five. 

**Author's Note:**

> Now you know why he calls himself Nova. Hmu on my tumblr henribrl.


End file.
